A stranger or not
by Monchy
Summary: Norrington receives a midnight visit. Mild slash.


**A stranger… or not**

The noise was strong and hollow, and it made James flinch. He left his second boot on the floor and searched for his gun in the dim light of the room, feeling safer once the familiar weight rested on his right hand. He started to turn around slowly, expecting perhaps a harsh command to stay still coming from a hoarse voice, but all he heard was something that he could only classify as a hiccup, and then someone tripping, yelping, and falling down. If this was a thief, thought James, he was certainly a bad one.

Pointing his gun at the spot where the noise had come from, he had to stifle a laugh when he saw William Turner sprawled on the floor, trying to stand up clumsily, while clutching a bottle of rum with his right hand. James stayed silent, and put his hands behind his back after leaving his gun on its usual place; after all, Turner was no threaten, much less in his actual state, right? He considered this for a few seconds, remembering the determined look in the younger man's eyes when he had rescued his pirate friend – _my place is right here, between you and Jack_ – brave and stupid, sure, but not dangerous.

James sighed, watching Turner fight for the control of his own limbs. The idea of helping him crossed his mind, but he preferred to keep his stance, and allow the boy to struggle with himself for as long as he needed. Finally, supporting himself on the bed and producing all kinds of noises, Will stood up, albeit precariously. He looked up and into James's green eyes, and smiled widely. James was surprised when this produced a hint of tenderness inside him. He decided it had been caused by the fact that Turner looked very much like a kicked puppy. A drunk kicked puppy.

James shook his head, and straightened his lips, erasing the small smile they had formed. "Mister Turner –"

"Commodore!" Will stumbled forward, and James caught him out of pure instinct. He started regretting it a second later, when he found himself with an armful of drunken blacksmith.

"Mister Turner, may I ask what are you doing here and in such a state?"

"Oh, I'm drunk," stated Will, matter-of-factly.

"Yes, I can see that," murmured James, wrinkling his nose when the smell of rum reached him. "As a matter of fact, I can smell that; but that still doesn't answer my question."

"I'm here –" Will looked up, and offered the commodore a dashing smile, "—I'm here to sleep with you."

The statement was so assertive that it made James's eyebrows raise unnaturally. They stayed there after his eyes examined the serious look on Will's face. The boy was not drunk – he was delusional.

"I think you should lie down, Mister Turner," stated James, with the same tone he used when lecturing one of his men. He didn't know if laying the boy down was the best solution, but his arms were getting tired from supporting the dead weight the blacksmith was.

Will nodded energetically. "Yes, lying down is nice for sex."

James chose to ignore the comment, helping the other man to the bed and dropping him on the middle of it, where he lay down, stretching his limbs. He yawned sleepily, and then he looked at James again, giving him another smile. James was convinced that he had never seen William Turner actually smile at him before; then again, he was fairly drunk.

"Soft bed," murmured Will, putting his arms above his head.

"Right." James sat on the edge of the bed, watching intensely every move William made. This just wasn't the shy kid he had gotten used to, and he most definitely wasn't the man Eliza-Miss Swann had left him for. "Now, may I ask _again_ why you're here?"

"Told you: to sleep with you." Will sat up on the bed, and threw his arms towards James, managing to grab the front of his shirt and tug him to the centre of the bed.

James had to bite his lip not to yelp. "Mister Turner, please." He grasped Will's wrists with his hands, which Will seemed to take as an incentive to try and kiss him. The kiss, though, landed on his cheek rather than on his mouth. "Will you stop that this moment?"

"But–"

"I will arrange for my carriage to take you home to your wife, if that's alright."

Will laughed, hysterically, letting go of James's shirt and falling back on the bed. James just arched an eyebrow, looking sceptically at the man, and then, for the first time, he noticed the redness of his eyes, and the lines under them. On a first examination, he had thought them traces of drunkenness, but now he could see those of crying.

Oh, great, so not only did the girl left him, but now he had to deal with the consequences of their fights. Well, he hadn't befriended William Turner before, and he wasn't going to now, no matter how adorably vulnerable the young man looked.

"She left."

And there, suddenly and violently, the happy drunk became a seriously hurt boy. James just sat there, looking at him, and not knowing what to do. He always knew what to say when it came to duty, ships and any other important business, but the matters of the heart were certainly not his strong point. He tried searching for something to say, some sympathetic advice adopted after being left by the same woman – should he start calling her a man eater? – but he found none.

Finally, he opted for a very eloquent, "what?"

"She left," repeated Will. He sat up again, motioning forwards and the backwards in a way that reminded him awfully of a certain pirate. "With Jack." James wasn't surprised, he wasn't surprised at all.

They stayed silent for a few seconds, Will just rocking forwards and backwards while James's mind raced itself. Perhaps allowing the man to stay the night was the right thing to do, or perhaps it would be easier to send him to the smithy. After all, besides Elizabeth, the commodore and young Turner had nothing that could possibly relate them. Oh, well, he guessed there was Sparrow, too. Great.

James came back to reality when Will grabbed his shirt again, this time managing to drop a sloppy kiss on his lips. James started, and leaned back, surprised by the taste of rum on the soft lips.

"Mister Turner, please. May I ask why sleeping with me seems to be a solution to your problem?"

"Well, she left you, and then she left me, all for a bloody pirate. We should get even, don't ya think?"

James chuckled, and soon he was laughing. Twisted logic that, but it certainly was a much nicer train of action than the one he had taken when he had been left by the recently named man eater: brood. Still, he clutched the young man's shoulders, efficiently stopping him from getting any closer.

"I believe that won't make you feel any better." Will opened his mouth, ready to negate the statement, but James silenced him with a stern look. "Have you ever been with a man, Mister Turner?"

Will shook his head, and James nodded. The question had been rather personal, but the truth was James had always been curious about the nature of the existing relationship between William and Sparrow. Apparently, the captain had kept his hands to himself, which, if he had to say so himself, was rather remarkable.

Sodomy was something rather common in the Navy, and of course, between pirates, too. This didn't mean that he was going to take advantage of a very eager young Turner, especially when he completely understood the way he felt. Or maybe not, maybe the extent of Turner's feelings for Elizabeth couldn't compare to his own. Many had said that he hadn't truly loved Miss Swann, but the truth was he had simply loved her in the only way he knew how to love. No wonder the girl had chosen the cute, honourable blacksmith over him, a man who would climb up a window drunk, with the purpose of sleeping with the man who had shared his wife in a way.

"But I want to."

And that assertion should definitely not have the effect it had on James. He breathed, slowly, and tried to calm himself, rationalising the situation. He was so not good at this kind of things. "Mister Turner, I believe you should–"

"Oh, you have pretty eyes."

James shook his head when he felt a pair of warm hands cup his face. And there he was, William Turner looking at him with big brown eyes, insinuating a pout with his lower lip, hurt and needy. He wondered what had made Elizabeth change this man for Jack Sparrow of all people. Had she traded loyalty, trust and adoration for freedom, or had she simply not looked at William properly? And then it struck him: had _he _looked at William properly? If he had, he wouldn't have proposed to Elizabeth in the first place.

It was strange, to find himself suddenly gazing at so familiar features that where so very unknown at the same time. What a mystery young Turner was, much more this drunk, horny and sad version of himself.

"You need some sleep, mister Turner," he said, finally, taking Will's hands between his and moving them away from his face.

"Knew you'd say that... do you have a name?"

James chuckled. "My name is James."

"Right, did Elizabeth know that? 'Cause I think she would have married you if she had. Maybe she would've stayed then."

James frowned, but he didn't have time to process the idea, because William dropped his forehead on his shoulder, and closed his eyes, sighing softly. James moved his hands up, wondering if the right thing to do was hug him, or just end this whole thing right now. A small surge of fondness forced him to lean his hand on the man's shoulder, which was certainly much more than he would have considered doing at the beginning of the night.

"Going to fall asleep now, James…"

James chuckled again, and dropped the slouching figure into the bed, seeing the young man curl into himself and close his eyes sleepily. He curved his lips to the side, and finally decided to take off William's boots and cover him properly, considering for a few seconds pressing a kiss to the young man's temple. He ended up moving his curls away from his face, and letting his fingers play with the idea of a caress.

Finally, he left the room silently.

"Heard some noises, sir."

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Norrington when Mrs. Miller, the housekeeper, came up behind him.

"Didn't mean to scare ya, sir."

"Yes, that is alright, Mrs. Miller. I have a guest, so would you please have some breakfast ready on the morning for him. And maybe some of that marvellous brew you do for headaches?"

"He's staying in the master bedroom, sir?"

"Yes, he is feeling rather ill, so please do allow him to sleep as much as he needs."

"Alright, sir. Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Miller."

James smiled a little, giving the door of the master bedroom one last look. It seemed that he would have to sleep in the uncomfortable bed of the guest room. It was never used, and the mattress was far too hard. But apparently, it seemed that someone was going to start using it… or maybe not.


End file.
